


Battle Scars and Wedding Rings

by millijayne13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cute, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Light Angst, Marriage, Married Couple, Married Life, Relationship(s), Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millijayne13/pseuds/millijayne13
Summary: Request: Hi lovely! Would you be able to write a harry potter x reader where reader is a healer and takes care of Harry after he comes back home injured from a mission? (Harry and reader are married) thanks in advance! I love your fics so much 💕 - anon
Relationships: Harry Potter/Original Character(s), Harry Potter/Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Battle Scars and Wedding Rings

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr @iliveiloveiwrite
> 
> Warnings: mentions of injuries, mentions of procedures and hospitals she/her pronouns, use of ‘wife’ and ‘woman’. FLUFF AND COMFORT FOR OUR MAN, HARRY.
> 
> Please leave a kudos and a comment if you enjoyed!

Harry blinks up at the fluorescent light dizzily; a headache starting to form behind his eyes. Gingerly, he reaches up and removes his glasses, rubbing at his eyes to see if that improves his vision.

It doesn’t. If anything, it makes it worse.

He groans as the pounding in his head becomes worse. Now, he can hear his pulse sounding in his ears and he wonders briefly how to silence it. He’s a wizard who in his teens conquered the darkest wizard to have ever roamed the earth, yet right now, he can’t seem to remember a simply numbing spell to ease the effects of his headache.

Harry flinches as the curtain to his exam room is pulled back, but he relaxes the moment he hears your voice. “Love?” You ask, “Is this why you couldn’t make it home for dinner?”

Harry groans as he pulls himself to a sitting position; pausing partway to stave off the wave of dizziness overtaking him. He hadn’t felt this bad since he fell off his broom in Third Year; waking up in the hospital wing of Hogwarts with little to no recollection of the match and his injury.

You titter as you rush over to him; forming incomplete words as you help him sit up. Gently, you run a hand through his too long hair, dropping a kiss to the forever messy locks.

“How are you feeling?”

Harry sighs, “Malfoy checked me over. I have a concussion and a few broken ribs. Looks like I’m taking it easy for the next few weeks.”

You frown, “Did Draco leave your x-rays?”

Harry nods, not seeing the point in fighting with you. He knew Draco knew his stuff; he also knew that you knew Draco was far more than qualified for his job in the emergency room, but as a Healer yourself and someone in love with the patient, you saw it fit to check out the scans yourself.

You hold his x-rays up to the lightbox, inhaling deeply when you see the breaks in three ribs on his right and two ribs on his left. Clamping your lips against the wave of tears that threaten to appear, you turn to your husband, “Do I want to know what happened this time?”

Harry shakes his head, but he answers all the same, unable to keep anything from you, “A damned raid went wrong. I got blown back against a wall; hit my head and felt my ribs crack.”

You hold your hand to your mouth; worry alight in your eyes. “You’re not in pain anywhere else?” You ask; your Healer hat on for the time being until you’re at home and in private where you can let yourself feel the near loss of your husband without the prying eyes and ears of your colleagues and patients.

“No, just my head and ribs,” He replies wincing at the pain growing ever larger inside of his head.

Panic settles over his for just a moment; it’s been years since he felt this sort of pain. It’s been years since his head had hurt so bad that he wondered whether the faded scar on his forehead was truly coming back to life. He rushes the very thought from his mind; instead, honing his attention back in on your worried but loving face.

It wasn’t the first time you had been called away from home or a patient to see to him, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. However, with each call, you get more worried. The little voice in the back of your head taunts you with questions of which injury will finally be the one to make him stop; which injury will be the one that finally comes too close to taking him from you for good.

You had already experienced the numb sensation of what losing Harry would feel like. You were there that day when the Dark Lord had his body carried into the courtyard for the remaining student body and teachers of Hogwarts to see. You watched as the twisted wizard gleefully declared his death.

You could never forget the numbness that settled over you like a weighted blanket. Never in your days had you experienced a feeling like it, and with Harry’s risky choice in profession, you could only pray to Merlin that you would never feel it again. It would be too soon; it would always be too soon.

Your attention comes back to the small exam room at the feel of Harry’s hand on yours. He watches you with a quizzical expression, “Where did you go just now?”

You shake your head, “Nowhere of importance.”

He brings your left hand up to his lips; kissing the finger upon which a golden band sat, “Everything you do and everywhere you go is of importance to me.”

You roll your eyes with a smile; stepping closer to your husband, “Don’t try to get on my good side, Potter. I’m still pissed at you.”

Harry huffs a laugh before stopping abruptly at the pain lancing through both sides of his body. He smiles weakly, “You have every right to be pissed, but can you be pissed off at home? I really want to go to bed.”

Fondness for the man in front of you rushes through your body. You caress his cheek; your thumb brushing over his cheekbone, taking in the scratches that litter his face. A consequence of hitting the ground. You smile softly at him, “Let’s go home, Harry.”

\-----

You decide against apparition. The swiftness of it would be too much pressure on Harry’s ribs and any further injury was something he, and your sanity, could not afford.

Instead, you wander slowly to the tube, helping Harry down the stairs to the platform and giving him the only empty seat on the carriage. He begins to protest – ever the gentleman – but a stern look from you has his argument dying on his tongue.

He remains quiet on the ride home; his mind caught in his earlier panic. Truthfully, he’s had two panics tonight. One in the exam room when the pain in his head started to become too much for him to manage, and two, earlier when he was blown back against a wall and started to lose consciousness. His only thought in those final few moments before darkness descended was of you – your eyes, your smile, your kiss. They were all of you.

When he came too in the emergency room with Draco Malfoy sitting in the corner of the room, he wondered briefly whether this was it. However, soothing words from the friend he once considered an enemy had him calming down enough for his ribs to stop screaming in agony.

The fresh air helps as the two of you walk from the tube station home. The summer evening air helping him take deeper breaths as he inhales the heady floral scents coming from the numerous gardens lining their street.

He keeps a hand on his right side as he steps up to the front door. Harry watches you rifle in your bag for your keys; thinking that your bag reminds him of the one Hermione charmed in their Seventh Year. You flash Harry a wide, triumphant smile as you pull the set of keys from your bag. The keyrings clink together as you unlock the front door and sigh, turning to him, barring him from entry for one moment.

You look him up and down, “What do you want to do? Bed or couch?”

Harry glances inside the house; his eyes flicker to the stairs and then to the living room door. He sighs painfully as he answers, “Bed, please.”

You nod, smiling reassuringly as the man you have loved since you were sixteen. You hold your hand out to him which he takes gratefully. “Bed it is,” You smile.

It’s slow going; pausing every two or three steps for Harry to catch his breath and to ride out the wave of pain that brings it with nausea and dizziness. You walk behind him; your hands at the ready should you need to catch him if he should trip or fall backwards.

Harry takes a seat on the edge of your shared bed; a pained expression leeching all colour from his face.

“I take it you don’t want the bath I’m about to offer?” You ask; hands on your hips as you take in the pale face of your husband.

He shakes his head wordlessly; apologies written in his green eyes.

You frown as you wander over to his dresser, pulling out the comfiest pieces of clothing he owns as well as a shirt for yourself. Quickly, you change out of your shirt and throw Harry’s on; the familiar and welcoming scent of broom oil and sweet orange washing over you.

Turning back to your injured husband, you find him watching you with a faint blush on his face. Harry’s pain forgotten for an instant as he watched you change into his clothing; it was his weakness, seeing you in his shirt or his jumper. He loved how his clothing melded itself to your every dip and curve; he adored the feel of the material against your skin when he slid the hem of shirt that little bit higher on your waist.

You hold up the items of clothing; letting Harry inspect them before wandering back to bed where he sits patiently waiting. He nods at your choices; not overly fussed as to what he’s going to be dressed in to sleep so long as he’s comfy.

“Lift your arms as high as they can go, and I’ll do the rest.”

Harry does so; lifting his arms to the point where his ribs begin to scream for mercy. He hates the fact that his bottom lip begins to wibble form the effort, but he’s had enough broken bones and other injuries to warrant a wobbly bottom lip should he want to.

Dark purple bruises litter both sides of his body; they spread to his back and you can’t help but feel sick at the sight of them. As you peel off his work shirt, you think back to the month leading up to your wedding where the majority of the time was spent in deliberation over your vows. You had written all what you wanted to say; covered all what you felt for the Boy Who Lived and yet you still had one more vow to make. It was a vow of protection; to keep him from harm a soften as you do. It didn’t help that he had chosen to train in one of the riskiest professions within the wizarding world, but as you were training to become aa Healer, you never gave it much thought.

Now, years down the line, you couldn’t help but wonder whether your vow of protection had been faulty. The voice of doubt within your head pestering you about it until you finally snap back at it; claiming that no, it was you who nursed him back to health after any injury and it was you who waited up at night for him to return from a mission. If that wasn’t a spell of protection, you didn’t know what was.

Fighting back tears, you reach for the t-shirt you had discarded the moment you reached Harry’s side. With some adjusting, you slide the t-shirt over his head and help pull his arms through the holes before settling it over his bruised and battered body. After that, you have him stand for a minute so you can pull of his trousers and help him stand into his joggers. By the time, he’s out of breath and squeezing his eyes shut from the pain.

However, he doesn’t miss how your breathing hitches and your hands falter on the fastenings of his joggers. He doesn’t miss the silver lining your eyes and the slight wobble to your bottom lip. 

“Hey,” Harry starts; voice quiet and full of love, “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head; letting a single sob leave your mouth as you fold up his work clothes, making a mental note to throw them in the washing box. A hand on your arm has you stopping this action. You meet his eyes; seeing nothing but love and concern for your welfare.

You want to laugh, because of course. Of course with a concussion and five broken ribs, Harry’s concerned about you; about how you’re feeling.

In an equally concerned voice, Harry repeats his question, “Love, what’s wrong?”

In a fit of helplessness, you gesture to his entire body to which he responds by furrowing his eyebrows. “I’m going to need more than that,” He prompts; smile wane.

“I just,” You start; pausing for breath and to think of the words, “I didn’t expect to see you so bruised. You’ve been injured before and I’ve healed you before but seeing the extent of your bruising just makes it all the more real.”

“Love…” Harry whispers, patting the empty bed next to him.

Sniffling, you sit next to him gingerly, careful not to jostle him too much for the fear of exacerbating his wounds. “Have you ever thought of stepping back from the missions?”

“Darling…” Harry starts, comfort already resounding in his voice, “This is what I’m trained for.”

You sniffle, fiddling with your fingers, “I know that, I do, but I can’t help but be worried each time you tell me you’re going on a mission.”

Harry sighs; turning his head slightly to press a kiss to your temple, “If we look on the bright side, this has the been the worst injury I’ve had for months.”

You groan, “You’ve jinxed us now, love.”

Harry laughs; stopping abruptly at the lance of pain in his right side, “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

You hum, “We’ve been through worse.”

“We’ve been through worse,” Harry echoes; the very words that had become a mantra through your marriage and each injury. Whenever it seemed bad; whenever the dark cloud of grief or sadness loomed, you reminded each other, you’ve been through worse and survived – so why should this time be any different?

You shake your head; swiping away the freshly fallen tears and plaster a smile on your face. You lean over, gently placing a kiss on Harry’s cheek before saying, “I have an idea.”

He raises an eyebrow intrigued at your words.

“How about I go make us some hot water bottles? Then we don’t need to worry about too much jostling in the night to get warm,” You suggest; eyes darting between the scratches on his face to the way he holds himself up on the bed. Heat would help relax the muscles that are surely to get stiff overnight and will help distract him from any pain that flares up as he sleeps.

Harry nods; a small smile on his lips as he answers, “I could go for a hot water bottle right now, but don’t take too long, please?”

You raise an eyebrow, “Why? Got big plans for me, Potter?”

Harry smirks, patting the bed. His humour still alive despite the pain, “Massive plans and they all involve this bed.”

You cackle as you head towards the door, practically singing your reply, “I’ll try not to be too long then.”

You’re gone for a few minutes. Harry uses this time to think back over the long and winding course of your relationship.

He remembers being seventeen years old, in love and terrified. He remembers stuttering through his explanation as to why he couldn’t love you the way he wanted to right now.

He thought that that would have been the end of this; you would wash your hands of him then and there, but instead you kissed him. You kissed him and made him promise to return to you in one piece.

A promise he barely kept; a promise he barely keeps today, he now thinks as he glances down at his aching body.

Harry thinks of after the war; of how you chose healing as your discipline after seeing the dead and injured lined up in the Great Hall. The stark contrast between the groans of the wounded and silence of the dead something that has stayed with the both of you since.

He thinks of how he almost proposed to you then and there. Covered in blood and dust, barely eighteen, but he’s happy that he chose to wait. He’s happy he had the two years with you before getting down on one knee and asking for your hand.

You re-enter the room with two heavily filled hot water bottles; each are wrapped in towels to keep from burning your feet as the both of you shuffle towards each other instinctively throughout the night.

You smile peacefully at Harry as you slide the hot water bottles into each side of the bed; Harry can tell that you’ve used this time to collect yourself. To have that moment you need after each injury to process what had happened and just how to move forward.

Harry knew all too well how much you hated seeing him hurt; after all, he felt the same way with you when you let a particular patient and their case get to you over the course of your shift. Harry doesn’t like to see you hurting over something you know you can fix.

It’s a balance that you both play off; that was how your marriage worked. You both took from the other but gave back just as much, if not more. Harry can’t think of a simple thing he wouldn’t do for you; he’s already won a war to not only save the wizarding world, but to love you without fear of a target on your back.

You pull the quilt back into place; patting the spot where the hot water bottles now lay, warming up the ends of the bed to stave off cold feet through the night. You make your way back to your husband; watching him with tired eyes, but eyes still filled with the same amount of love and adoration as there was at seventeen years old.

Running a hand through his hair, you glance at the clock on your bedside table and ask, “Do you remember what time you had a pain potion?”

Harry pushes his head into your hand; desperate to keep the contact between you two, “Long enough to need another.”

You nod your head; dipping slightly to brush your lips against his before rushing to the bathroom. Harry smiles like a fool in love as he brings a hand to his mouth whilst listening to your rifle around in the bathroom, opening drawers and cupboards looking for a pain potion.

Harry supposes he is a fool in love. He has been since he was seventeen years old and watching you from afar in the Great Hall at meal times. He’s been a fool for you for so long that he knows no other form, nor does he desire to know.

“Ha!” You shout from the bathroom; dancing into the bedroom with the familiar shaped bottle of pain potion in your hand with a small measuring cup in the other. Carefully, with a trained eye, you pour out the right amount before handing it to Harry.

Harry grimaces as he down the potion; immediately feeling its effects. The pain potion had been around for centuries, and yet, no witch or wizard had been able to find a cure for the acrid lingering aftertaste.

“How does that feel?” You ask; placing the dark blue glass bottle on the bedside table by Harry’s side, knowing he would need more through the night and wanting close by.

Harry takes a breath, enjoying the painlessness of it. He smiles at you, “Good, for now.”

You grin at him, “So good that you think you could manage getting into bed?”

Harry chuckles, “Broken ribs will not stop me from sleeping by my wife. Not now, not ever.”

You bite your lip against the wave of adoration that washes over you. There were times in your relationship and then your marriage where the simplest things said by Harry nearly always turned out to be what you cherished most. You know that he most likely didn’t think twice before saying what he said, but those words settle into your heart, making a home there for you to pull out and revisit should you ever feel low. Simple words that leave your husband’s mouth but affect you so much.

You hold your hands for him to take which he does. You take bis weight as he pulls himself up, standing, pressed against you. Harry takes this opportunity to draw you into a longer kiss; a languid kiss that has you dropping his hands in favour for winding them around his neck to tug him closer. However, right at the last minute, you remember his broken ribs and you pull back with a sigh.

You caress his cheek, “I know what you were trying to do, Potter, and it isn’t working tonight.”

Harry smiles cheekily; the pain potion taking full effect now, “I’m not sure what you mean, Potter.”

You beam at the use of your married name. With a fond shake of your head, you gesture to the bed, “Come on, let’s get comfy before we fall asleep.”

It doesn’t take half as long to get Harry settled into bed; propped up against a wall of pillows and your headboard before you make your way to your side of bed, propping yourself up just as high. Childishly, you rub your feet against the bedsheet, revelling in the warmth being spread by the hot water bottles placed there only moments ago.

Harry chuckles at your action before mimicking it; happy to have some warmth seeping through his body instead of the air conditioned emergency room at St. Mungo’s.

Harry shuffles for a second more before finally uttering ‘Nox’ and plunging the room into darkness.

In the dark of the room, you reach for his hand. Tangling your fingers together, you say, “I’m not asking for you to quit your job, Harry. You love it too much to do so, but I’m asking you to think about slowing down a little. To not jump at each offer of a mission, to think about what could happen,” You pause, “I’m rather fond of you coming home, you know.”

Harry releases a shuddering breath. His sides aching with the effort. He lets himself breathe for a minute or two, counting the breaths in and out of his body. Eventually, as the pain lessens slightly, he says, “I think you’re right.”

“You do?”

Harry nods, “I’m rather fond of coming home to you too as it happens.”

Carefully, cautious of not jostling the bed too much, you shift onto your side, facing him in the dark. “What do you want to do?” You ask; curious to his thoughts on the matter.

Harry sighs, bringing a hand up to rub at his face. “I don’t know,” He starts, “I want to continue working, but I don’t think I can continue if getting this injured is part of the job.”

You purse your lips; attempting to think of a solution when it hits you all at once. You grip Harry’s hand tighter in the dark, “Didn’t you say that Auror Clare is retiring next month?”

“Yes…” Harry comments; voice apprehensive and curious to see where you’re going.

“Why don’t you put your name forward for his job? They haven’t found anyone yet, right?”

Harry blinks once, twice, three times as the idea settles in his mind. Soon enough, a large smile spreads across his face as he begins to nod rapidly, “Love, that’s an excellent idea. I’ve done more than enough field work to prepare me to train new recruits.”

You smile into the dark, “What do you think? Will you put your name forward?”

Slowly, taking care not to stretch too much, Harry reaches for your left hand and places kiss after kiss to the wedding band sitting there. “I think it’s a great idea, I’m going to send an owl to Auror Michaels tomorrow and put my name forward,” Harry pauses for a single second before whispering – something akin to awe in his voice, “How did I get so lucky to have someone like you fall in love with me?”

Feeling nothing but sheer yearning to be close to your husband, you slide over to him, resting your head gingerly on his shoulder. You tilt your face up, placing a kiss to the jawline that has only become more defined over the years. As your eyes begin to droop and a yawn overtakes your body, you whisper to him, “How did we get so lucky to find each other?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Please leave a kudos and a comment if you enjoyed! I'm very proud of this fic!
> 
> Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite


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